Demon Within Me
by Iris Butterfly
Summary: Yuuri was tired and bored. Yet, he still have 285 years more to go. - In which Yuuri lost a bet with other demon princes and had to spend a millennium in the human realm.


Note: This is requested by Shiranai Atsune.

This took a while to compose since I wasn't satisfied with the way it turned the first five times.

* * *

As much as he prided himself on his seemingly unlimited stamina, Yuuri was tired – not to mention, he was also _utterly_ and _completely_ bored.

It was not just with hours of practice, but with everything else. These things were topics he couldn't disclosed to his coach, Phichit, or his family. He kept these to himself, not because he doesn't trust them – he does, to an extent – however, he had _knowledge_ of things and could _do_ things that he couldn't tell them, not even on his deathbed.

Not that he could die, if he had to be truthful.

In fact, this boredom had been plaguing and stalking him for the past several years like an incurable disease or a clingy ex that would not give him any freedom whatsoever. He had even decided to partake in a risky and somewhat adventurous activity of posing as a normal human being – from birth to his early 20s now. Moreover, he even went and learned ballet and a sport he had a mild interest in… just to elevate his boredom.

Suffice to say, none of them worked.

In the beginning, it greatly amused him to take some time to choose certain characteristics and personality for his guise – almost as if he was trying to decide which desert to consume first. This time, it gave him a great challenge trying to ensure that he behaved in the manner of his chosen character – a shy, awkward, and anxious character. However, that soon transformed into a wormhole of boredom after 15 years when each day fell into same monotonous routine, just to maintain that disguise.

'Like all those years.' His thought betrayed him.

It was definitely irksome to wake up early (when sleep was nothing but a luxury), eat breakfast (when he did not require human food to maintain himself), do his morning jog (which he could finish in a handful of seconds but had to force to finish it in human speed), sit through insipid lectures of physics (something he decided to major in but doesn't need it), and complete long hours figure skating practice (making sure that he fumbled through difficult jumps when he could land them easily with inhuman grace).

It was becoming so mundane that he wanted to unleash an epidemic of some sort, just for his amusement. Something he had done centuries ago… something akin to Black Death of 14th centuries.

'Those were the good old days…' An evil smirk etched on the corner of his mouth, which quickly disappeared when he remembered that he wasn't alone.

He was at Sochi for the Grand Prix Finale, and that also meant skaters from other countries were present. He zoned out the conversations between Celestino, his coach, and the reporters, trying to look as if he paid attention when he wasn't. It was an easy task, if he had to be honest, since he had years to perfect it.

Yuuri gave a brief smile towards the reporters after Celestino dismissed them, and led him towards his hotel room. The older man was amid of giving some speeches in attempts to calm his 'anxieties', which he didn't bother to listen because he doesn't have any.

It was his character as Yuuri Katsuki, not himself. Right now, he was being himself and not Yuuri. Then again, if he pondered on the matter, he realized that he was being himself more these days than as Yuuri. He doesn't remember when he discarded that character aside or if he destroyed that creation altogether. The line blurred some years back, and he couldn't bring himself to remember it.

"Practice will be at 4, so we have a couple of hours to settle in. If you want, you can take a nap." Celestino mentioned as they headed towards the elevator.

He hummed in understanding, but paused in mid-stride when his enhanced hearing captured a commotion several meters away from the hotel building, in an alley between two buildings. He quickly recomposed his composure and discreetly narrowed his eyes, concentrating to listen in on the conversation which disgusted him, if he had to be honest. Human actions like these sickened him and he wouldn't mind wreaking havoc just to teach them a much needed lesson.

"Well, since we have time, do you mind if I go look around the city? I promise I won't lost." Yuuri asked and promised, but he left without waiting for his coach's response.

He hastened his pace until he was out of sight from prying eyes of other guests, and exited the building. He then turned around the corner, silently scanned the premise to ensure that no one followed him, and disappeared in a cloud of blue gas. He emerged behind a large trash dumpster, a few yards away from the commotion, and narrowed his eyes in dissatisfaction at the scene.

A group of drunk men were harassing three skaters – the Crispino twins, and Mila Babicheva, if he recalled their names correctly. One large man had Michele Crispino in a hold with a knife held against his neck while the two of the four men around the women had their hands pinned above their heads, making sure that they couldn't escape.

'What a disgraceful bunch.' Yuuri thought with a click of his tongue.

He knew he couldn't let them recognize him since they are his fellow competitors – well, at least one of them is, and the other two knew him from their rink mates. So, he ran a hand through his hair while focusing on his powers, and instantly stepped out of his guise and into another form. His short black hair changed into semi-long blonde hair and grayish green eyes while his ears contained a couple of piercings. It was very different from his usual guise as Yuuri, and he doubted anyone would be able to make a connection between the two visages.

He pocketed his glasses, which happened to be unnecessary to aid with his vision but a necessary item to mask his powers. Wordlessly, he stepped out of the shadows and approached the group.

"Gentlemen, I deeply apologize that our fellow skaters are bothering you."

His voice startled the group as all five men and three skaters looked over to his direction. One of the five men – whom he presumed to be the leader – growled at him, mildly annoyed that he disrupted them.

"Who the hell are you?"

Well, that was rather polite and nice of the guy. It was nice to know that people still had manners in this era.

"I am just someone who cared about their wellbeing." He answered calmly with a cold smile.

"Stay out of our business, buddy. This doesn't concern you." Another man retorted with a glare and stalked over to his direction.

Yuuri resisted the urge to snicker at the man's meager attempt to scare him, and responded with a, "That simply will not do. They are, after all, professional figure skaters and I cannot look away at this incident. Now then, please release them as I do not wish to resort to violence."

"You speak weird." A third man of the group commented.

"David, we should teach him a lesson not to mess with us." The second man reminded with sneer.

He watched in mild amusement as the fourth man, who had Michele in a hold relinquished the skater and rushed to him with a dagger. He nimbly sidestepped the attack despite the narrow space, and gave a small kick with less than five percent of his overall strength. A smirk appeared on his expression when that man flew away from the attack and ended up in a heap next to the dumpster with noticeable dent.

While the drunk men sobered up from the attack and looked angry at his actions, Yuuri looked over the Michele, who was trying to catch his breath, but the Italian skater looked fine in general.

"Anybody else wishes to challenge me?" Yuuri questioned with a cold yet polite smile.

"You bastard!" The formerly drunk men seethed in anger.

They all rushed towards him as if to force a battle with all four of them at the same time. The notion of them trying to overpower him greatly entertained him, especially when they had seen what he did to one of their peers. It seemed they had forgotten that tiny factor in their rage.

As such, it only took him mere seconds before all fell in an ungraceful heap from a swift kick, just like the other member of their group. He glanced over to the groaning pile to make sure that they did not pull any more 'surprises' onto him. In fact, it annoyed him that he didn't need to use his powers to stop them.

"I believe this is where you stop." Yuuri muttered under his breath with a blank look.

"You… who the hell are you? There is no way someone like you could do something like this." One man questioned suspiciously.

Yuuri gave a cold smile in response before his gaze fixated on Sara fussing over her brother while Mila looked at his direction. "I am just a passerby. However, I give you my thanks in alleviating my boredom, if only for a few minutes."

He simply smirked at their bewildered looks, and took a couple of steps before he disappeared from their sights in a cloud of blue gas. He could have used his powers to stop them without moving from his spot, but that would be too simple and boring. After all, no humans could ever stand up to him and live to tell the tale.

"So long as water runs in their veins, no creature could contest me." He murmured under his breath while he looked at the panoramic from a high hotel building.

He heaved a sigh as he pondered about his chosen human disguise – a bundle of anxiousness, if one could call it that – and knew that it would be difficult to win the Grand Prix Finale if he continued to portray his character as it is. For one, his character could not land difficult jumps without fumbling through it. He supposed it served as a challenge and a mild amusement, if he could call it that, that could last him for a few years more.

"If only I hadn't lost a bet against Cain and Sitri." Yuuri clicked his tongue distastefully. "Then I wouldn't be stuck in human realm for a millennium. Can't believe they decided the length to be a millennium, just because I lost a battle against them. At least there are only 285 years left before I can return."

He, a Prince of Hell, had been living among with humans since the 14th century. He had many identities since then – from top to bottom of social pyramids, and somewhere in between – but he had to disappear when he reached mid-30s or mid-40s at the latest because he doesn't age. He _can't_ age. He doesn't know if he should be thankful of his immortality or curse at it, really. It was a hassle to create new identities all the time.

"I still have at least 20 years with this character before I need to leave." He murmured to the wind, and then disappeared from the scene in a swirl of blue gas.


End file.
